


Ripped Heart

by VanillaCottonCandy1216



Series: The Indigo Sky Universe [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Also based on a, Angst, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Post Mockingjay, Post canon, ok so kind of takes place on a, prompt, type holiday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28007928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaCottonCandy1216/pseuds/VanillaCottonCandy1216
Summary: “Nothing hurts more than that simple truth, that glaring fact, that cuts me right down to the bone. That the real reason I hate this new celebration is because my sister would absolutely love it and she’s not here to experience it.”/Katniss struggles with the new holiday traditions without her sister. Set Post-Mockingjay. Everlark.Based on the prompt, “why are you wearing my sweater?”“Because it smells like you.”
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: The Indigo Sky Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075085
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	Ripped Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii! So I wrote this lil thingy after getting a prompt on tumblr. It’s set about eight years post canon, so Katniss and Peeta are about twenty-five. In this fic, Panem took on a new winter holiday that vaguely resembles Christmas.

My feet trudge down the stairs, still somewhat unwillingly, although no one is forcing me. I could stay upstairs in my room all day if I so wished, I could hide under the blankets and just pretend. I could just pretend today was an ordinary, boring day and that most of the people I know won’t be convening in my house for the vast majority of the afternoon and evening.

But I don’t. Because that wouldn’t be fair to do to Peeta.

Peeta, who loves the celebrating and the family gatherings and the newfound holidays this country has adapted since the end of the war, since the end of Snow and Coin and the hunger games.

And it’s not that I don’t want to see my family. It’s not that I necessarily want to be a hermit in my own home, like Haymitch.

I just really don’t like this new holiday. For whatever reason, it has made my skin crawl every year, for the last six years that it’s been slowly making it’s way across the districts. Every year, people in every district alike put out decorations, purchase candy and trees, cook meat and pastries and, though every district calls the holiday a differing variety of names, everyone all celebrates alike. With their family, traveling to see loved ones, thankful for the safety not one of us can take for granted now since the war.

Maybe it’s that seeing the whole country uniformly celebrating anything still makes my skin crawl, as I still see loud, boisterous crowds in my dreams at night, and though the people celebrating this holiday are probably nothing like the faces I see in my sleep, I still can’t shake the connection.

Or maybe it’s that not all my family survived the war. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t want to celebrate anything if I can’t celebrate with everyone I love.

Either way I still make my way down the stairs and through the living room, just the same. I walk past Haymitch, drunk and passed out on the floor and the embers burning in the hearth next to him. I walk into the kitchen and meet the eyes of my husband, currently stirring batter of some kind in the bowl I did my best to handcraft for his birthday two years ago.

“Hi,” Peeta greets, his eyes visibly surprised to see me. “What’re you doing up?”

I give him a look as I slide into a tall chair by the counter. “It’s nine-thirty,” I deadpan. “I’m usually up at six.”

“I just figured,” he starts before hesitating, measuring me carefully before second-guessing his words. “I know you don’t like the new holiday traditions,” he finally amends.

I shrug my shoulders, non-committal. “It’s not like I can hide away while everyone’s here,” I state, as if I wasn’t contemplating doing that exact thing on the way down the stairs.

Peeta though touches my hand and gives it a squeeze, sympathetically. “I could tell them you’re sick?” He offers softly.

A part of me wishes to take him up on that offer but I shake my head plainly. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I can tell everyone to head over to Delly’s and Kanon’s. Delly doesn’t mind changing her plans and hosting. We can just spend the day you and me.”

“And Haymitch makes three?” I tease, but give a half smile as I turn down this idea too. “I’m fine, Peeta. Really. I can even help you finish up...” I look at the bowl of mixed ingredients, attempting to decipher what he’s concocting. I’ve been married to him long enough to put together the smell of vanilla, cinnamon and chocolate, but still manage to come up empty to what his final product will be.

He just laughs at my confusion. “No, actually, I was planning on taking a break anyway,” he says, putting the bowl and spoon down, but I easily know he’s lying. He never stops halfway through making anything for a break, no matter how sore his arm can get from stirring.

“Really?” I raise one thick eyebrow at him, knowingly, as he walks around the counter and pulls at my hand to follow him.

As I stand, Peeta evidently takes in my attire for the first time since I came downstairs.

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” He asks, his own blonde brows furrowing now.

“Because it smells like you,” I say defensively, hugging it to me like I’m afraid he’s going to steal it away.

But his eyes soften almost imperceptibly and he gives me a look that is so loving and so sweet, it would disgust me if it were from anyone else.

“Come here,” he directs evenly, tugging me by hand. I let him guide me to the living room, taking a seat on the coffee table while he finds residence across from me, on the couch. We both, probably unwisely, ignore the drunk sleeping off his stupor by the flames.

Peeta takes my hands in his and leans down to press his mouth to my knuckles. “Talk to me, Katniss.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I insist, but my voice is too quiet and he’s been married to me for over six years and he knows me too well at this point. He knew me too well at sixteen, let alone now, after all these years.

Proving just that, he shakes his head. “Something’s bothering you. And I don’t like it when you’re not happy.”

I shrug then, because I have no defense to really give. “I just... dislike Yuleday,” I admit simply, using the most common term for the holiday.

I feel his large hand cover my cheek tenderly. “Is this because your mom is bringing Rod this year?”

My jaw clenches at the mention of my mother’s new husband. I open my mouth to deny it but then I look into Peeta’s kind, understanding blue eyes, that have never judged me, that have sought so hard for so long to never let his demons cast shadows over them again, and I just can’t. His baby blue eyes stop me in my tracks, stop me from telling him a blatant lie. “It’s a part of it,” I admit begrudgingly.

I feel his hand move to rub one of my shoulders. “I know. I know it’s hard,” he validates. I lean over and kiss his fingers as they try to massage the tension away. “But it has been almost fourteen years since your dad died, Katniss. Your mom... it’s okay for her to move on. I think it’s a good thing, that she was able to open her heart again to someone new.”

I nod mechanically, knowing all this is true, logically. “Yeah,” I try to agree, but it comes out unevenly and I can’t quite make myself look at him now.

“It’s easier to accept from an outside position,” he notes kindly.

But I shake my head. “It’s not just that, Peeta. It’s... it’s not just that she remarried or that she didn’t tell me about him until they were engaged. It’s... it’s everything that came with her getting remarried.”

Already knowing what I meant without asking me to verbalize, he adds, “It’s the step-children that make it more difficult to swallow.” His words are a clear statement, not a question.

I shrug at that, knowing it’s true. “It just feels odd that she has this whole other family now,” I explain, feeling immature and ridiculous and petty.

Practically reading my mind again, Peeta tries to comfort me. “That’s natural, Katniss. For you to feel that way, I mean. I would.” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him now. “I would feel the exact same way. Especially...” he cuts himself off now, once again second-guessing what he wants to say.

“Especially what?” I prompt.

“Especially if I lost my sister like you did. I would be sensitive about my mother gaining step-kids too. Younger step-kids, at that.” He gives me a long measuring look in which makes me feel naked. And not in a good way, like usual. “That’s what really bothering you, after all.”

My eyes widen, startled by his call out. “What?”

“That’s why you’re really upset. About the holiday, about everyone coming over, about your mom’s new family. Because it just reminds you that Prim is missing.”

I stare straight ahead blankly, unable to respond. Nothing hurts more than that simple truth, that glaring fact, that cuts me right down to the bone. That the real reason I hate this new celebration is because my sister would absolutely love it and she’s not here to experience it. She’s not here to see it and I don’t know how to enjoy it properly, even for Peeta’s sake, without her here too.

“Come here,” Peeta says now, and he tugs me by hand from the coffee table and into his lap. His fingers sift through my hair tenderly and his lips find resistance against my forehead. After a long beat, he whispers against my temple, “She would want you to make new memories. Prim would love Yuleday. And she would want you to love it.”

“I know she would love it,” I say and we both pretend not to hear the way my voice cracks. “But she isn’t here to love it and... I feel wrong celebrating without her. I know it’s been eight years-“

“Katniss, there’s no time limit on grief. Trust me, I know.” Of course he did. He lost his entire family in one fell swoop and I’m over here whining about my loss. I feel his hand slip up my sweater—well, technically his sweater—and rub my back. “Do you remember what I said at our toasting?”

I crane my neck back from it’s place against his throat, giving him a puzzled look. “Off topic but yes. I remember everything from that day.” And I do. I remember how perfect his outfit was, how it wasn’t too casual or too formal, just the right simplicity. I remember what he said and how the warmth of the fire reflected the warmth inside my heart. I remember the bread he made and how it was the exact the bread he tossed to me in the rain all those years ago, the exact bread that had saved my life. I remember the look in his eyes as he stared at me, the tears he shed of utter happiness, because we were finally able to love each other safely and wholly and without pressure or reservations.

“Do you remember what I said about Prim?” He inquiries softly.

And then I understand why he brought up our toasting. “Yes,” I affirm, my voice quiet again.

“She’s always here, for all the big events and the small ones. She lives inside you, Katniss. Your sister is a part of you, no matter what.”

I blink back the moisture in my eyes, trying my hardest not to let any of it fall. “I know.”

“Prim would want you to be happy,” he says again, kissing my hair, his fingers dancing over my braids. I put my hair in two today, knowing he liked it when I did. “Happy with and for your mother.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I do hope she’s happy,” I murmur finally, my grey eyes boring into his. “I hope Rod makes her as happy as you make me.”

I feel his lips before I realize he’s leaning in, our mouths connecting instantaneously. His lips are softer than ever, but still firm, still able to create an electric spark inside of me. I thought the kiss on the beach was good when I was seventeen, but in reality, it was nothing compared to how he makes me feel eight years later. It was nothing compared to the fireworks he erupts now, without even so much as trying.

But he can’t go without teasing me for long and as soon as we pull apart, as I trail my lips downwards to begin hungrily kissing his throat, he doesn’t even miss a beat, saying, “I hope Rod makes your mom as happy as my sweaters make you.”

I immediately pull my mouth away, my eyes narrowing. “I’m leaving.”

“No,” he pleads, grabbing me by the waist as I try to stand and tugging me back into his arms again. His lips find where my neck meets my shoulder and he sucks, putting a vast amount of pressure there, knowing it’s my utter weakness. “Don’t leave me. I love you,” he mumbles gently against my skin.

I can’t help my smile then as I reach my hand up and touch his cheek, making sure not to interfere with him continuing his task. “I love you too, Peeta.”

But another voice joins us, effectively ending the moment. “Can you two get a room?” Haymitch barks, his eyes bleary as he leans his head up off the floor now, still waking up.

“Actually, we got a whole house, Haymitch,” Peeta assures smoothly. “But thanks for making yourself at home in it.”

Haymitch only offers a thumbs up in response before flopping back on the hardwood, groaning in response to the dying fire’s last sizzling flames.

“If only we could use our house to our... liking. In peace.” I don’t even bother keeping my voice down or hiding my meaning from Haymitch.

“Girl, if you want to talk like that, save it for after company leaves.”

“You’re not company, Haymitch,” I shoot back.

“I’m talking about everyone else coming today, sweetheart.”

Oh. It had momentarily slipped my mind that we were expecting people any moment now. “We’re really grateful you could grace us with your presence early,” Peeta says to the hungover man, who’s now reaching his hand closer to the fire, attempting to absorb any heat he can.

“Shut it, boy. It’s Yuleday. Have some kindness for an old man who saved your life.”

“By kindness he means alcohol,” I murmur, eliciting Peeta’s chuckle.

“She’s not wrong,” Haymitch adds under his breath.

“Let me up,” Peeta pats my butt, signaling for me to get off his lap. “I have to go finish the chocolate cinnamon rolls before our family gets here.”

But as he starts to make his way back towards the kitchen, I follow behind him, grabbing his hand to catch up. “What’re you doing?” He asks, his voice confused.

“I’m going to help you finish baking.”

His brow push together. “What suddenly got you in the spirit?”

I shrug, making my way ahead of him and grabbing the bowl he was using before to stir the batter around. “Like Haymitch said. It’s Yuleday.”

Peeta’s eyes relax and then soften as he looks at me, no doubt taking in the image of me in his sweater, mixing batter around in the bowl I handmade him. Just as I finish stirring all the ingredients together, he wraps his arms around my waist and starts planting kisses on my neck greedily.

And I decide in that moment, as I twist around to capture my husband’s lips again with my own, to do everything I can to be happy for my mom.

To be as happy for her as I know somewhere Prim is for me.


End file.
